From a Distance
by An Fhomhair
Summary: Onesided CombeferrexJehan. Combeferre muses at the barricades on a long admiration..well, love, actually..of his friend.


_A/N: .:nervous laugh:. Well, it's certainly been a while…last time I posted something on this site must've been at least half a year…so if it sucks, don't go too hard on me, please? I like constructive criticism, but flames are not appreciated. And it's slashy. If you don't like slash, don't read it._

**From a Distance**

I watched you as you were leaving the Café Musain, but you didn't notice…watched as you laughed at a joke Courfeyrac had made, tossing back your hair…watched as you scratched away at a piece of parchment- you looked so deeply in thought!...watched as you gazed intently at Enjolras as he spoke. I should have been paying attention to him also, but my attention kept straying to you. It was very wrong and foolish; it is wrong and foolish still. I always took special care not to let another person consume every bit of my attention, but you abolished that policy unwittingly.

And you did consume my attention; I thought about you all the time, all the while remembering, in the back of my brain, that this was not a proper situation. I should not have been thinking about you this way at all; you were a friend, a younger friend even, and a boy.

I couldn't escape from you, though. I didn't _want _to escape from you. It was painfully obvious, in my mind's eye, that to admit the extent to which I adored you- an absurd amount- would only push you away from me. You and the others would be horrified. Or so I thought. And so it became my heavily guarded secret, something that was locked inside me and cut like a knife. Everytime I saw you, at that point, I could hardly speak, I blushed furiously- which was _your_ characteristic, I was struck dumb with longing just to hold you, kiss you, stroke your hair…anything, just to touch your hand would send me into a rhapsody. And yet while I was so pathetically in love, I had a sense of shame, that I was going against what I had been taught. I should have been in love with some young lady, but there was obviously no detracting from the mad attraction I had to you.

June swept in, with its heat and the talk of revolution was rising amongst our group as never before. This month? Next month? July would do. And all the while I was growing more desperate. Was I never to tell you? Could I ever tell you? It was like an impossible puzzle, and the pain and sadness that came with this insane love was eating away at my life.

I watched you all the more at the meetings in the back of Café Musain. I became acquainted with your habits of speech and the way you moved your hands when you talked on a subject. I managed to talk normally again with you now, and when we talked I noticed vaguely how the sunlight from a window played on your hair, making it seem more auburn than brown, and how your eyes almost closed when you laughed. I found it adorable. My obsession was not curbed, but slightly calmed at least.

Finally the time for revolution had come. Why we were so confident, I shall not know. As we built our barricade and cheerfully hummed songs like _Le Marseillaise _and _Ca Ira_, did anyone guess that this event could fulfill or shatter our lives?

It soon shattered mine…

Through all the commotion I heard from Feuilly that they had captured you, the soldiers had. This was confirmed by Enjolras. Though I did not show it, I was numb with grief. We all were sure there was still hope to get you back. How could we let the sweetest, most innocent, and yet one of the most inspiring of our group be sacrificed? I do believe even heartless Enjolras felt the same way. Though his face was impassive as ever, I could see something flickering in his eyes that showed his uncertainty. You had been his 'pet', the boy he took under his wing.

My fevered mindscape was disturbed by a loud shot, and a cry. "Vive la revolution!"

I heard an audible gasp from Bossuet, who was standing nearest to me. Enjolras bowed his head. "They have shot him." That was enough. I turned away, sickened and grief-stricken. You, that wide-eyed, innocent poet- you were gone. It seemed impossible. Last night you'd leaned against my shoulder as we'd recited a classic poem, I could have told you…why did I not? I mentally cursed myself.

And now nearly everyone is gone. Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet…not Enjolras. He is still fighting. So is Marius, which I wouldn't have expected… Grantaire is probably off sleeping away his excess absinthe, God knows. I can hardly see through the veil of red that seems to have been lowered over my eyes in the heat of this battle that is so obviously slipping out of our hands. And still, all I can think of is you. Your face is still in my mind, you eyes lit up and your hair falling in your face as it always did…I don't care about myself anymore, but if I could have saved you I would be at peace…

Are you perhaps watching me now, from a distance?

-fin-


End file.
